lifeofawillow

im just quietly sad now.

with my feet going forward

and a fake smile for all of them.

i come home and take it off

and snuggle in,

but cant get warm.

and my eyes are sad.

i know they are,

but i can usually hold back the tears.

and my hands shake,

a little more,

but theyre rarely doing anything that matters,,

and sleep is fitful

and full of demons

but that really is nothing new..

im skinny.

and its not getting better

but nothing tastes good anymore.

and my heart is hurt.

too painfully to speak of

and so ive stopped, cause it just is.

and i no longer know what i want,

and i have no picture in my dream

and i know im not worth

the dandelion to dream on

so i dont bend to pick them

anymore.

i can’t help

but count

the sundays

and imagine

the thousands more

that might never be

what they should.

you say you love me

look in my eyes

hold my hands

promise me its true

that my worth is unparalleled

and you need me

want me

above all else.

that i am the missing piece

that i

am the one

and im sitting

crouched with you,

huddled

in this small space,

and your gaze is unwavering,

and you dont break contact even once.

and i,

i believe you.

and then

i woke up.

its a pulsating aloneness

this feeling i have,

just tiny

and unsuccessful

and shrugged aside so easily.

i think that those who want

dont know,

and those who know

dont want,

and that makes this whirlpool

of whatever this is,

just seem utterly

endless

and with no reprieve.

and all these dull thoughts

that spill onto this page,

are but a mere drop

of the enormous well

of pointless emotion

that i drag around

each day.

and theyre read,

and disposed of,

as is

their author.

im not ok.

in any way.

at all.

i think im empty.

its so easy for others

to throw out life.

possibility is naught

potential is empty.

and i,

i stand here

and wring my hands

and scrape with bloody fingers

and yell with silenced soul

cause all those things

are life

to me..

but i,

i am not worth.

i am not heavy with meaning,

i am not-

im just

not anything.

not anything at all.

and the silence at the other end

is deafening.

and the lack of touch

is shriveling.

and the ignorance of

whatever small worth

i might have the ability to be,

is fatal.

and all thats left

is the prayer

of another

who can breathe life back

from whence it was stolen

and grab hold to small hand

and see beyond

all.

its just a far flung prayer.

but its all i have.

cause like i said,

i dont have much.

just

me.

i know.

i i know its nothing.

but its all ive got.

its all

ive’

got.

.

i feel like I can’t move.

and i don’t know

what’s physical or mental

at this point.

im goopy yeah,

but i think it’s my head

and heart

that have really taken

the beating this time.

ill just lay here

and dream of the world ending.

it’s not as scary that way.

and certainly not

as lonely.